


To Hold the Sky in Your Hands

by Kappachyun (AKnightOfAGoodKing)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Basketball, Bullying, Car Accidents, Elementary School, F/F, Family, Fluff, Friendship, High School, Hurt/Comfort, prosthetic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 10:01:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18247565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKnightOfAGoodKing/pseuds/Kappachyun
Summary: It takes six years to hold up the sky after an accident that shook the world.





	To Hold the Sky in Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> **[DO NOT REPOST/REUSE MY WORK(S) WITHOUT MY ACKNOWLEDGEMENT AND PERMISSION]**
> 
> A big thank you to @bleoum for supporting me and being so kind! ^^ I hope you like it!
> 
> If you're interested in supporting me for a fic, please message me on my Twitter in the link provided in the bottom. Thank you for reading!

**Age 10**

_Pain_ _._  

It's just another day at the park, how did the world get into so much pain. It's only bursting from his right arm, but it's inflaming, and wet, as he lays on the ground, barely able to move, unable to make a sound. He wants his father. Everything hurt. Why is it so loud?  _Shut up._  Whose car is that?  _Turn it off._ Why is Dante shou—

"NERO!" 

Why does his uncle sound so scared? Nero could never imagine Dante be scared before. His uncle and his father are the most fearless people in the world, they can go through Hell and back with smiles on their faces. 

But right now, Dante's face is flittering, his blue eyes glancing over to the arm Nero couldn't see and his hands are shaking as he places on on Nero's cheek. "Nero," he says, voice trembling. "It's going to be okay, help's on the way. Don't you worry, kiddo." 

"Dante," Nero says, crying, "it hurts." 

Dante curses. "I'm sorry, just bare with it just a little longer. Everything is going to be okay." He's talking to himself as much as he was talking to Nero.

His uncle keeps talking to him, but Nero's too distracted by his arm. He tries to glance over, tilting his head over to his right. 

"Don't look, Nero," Dante says, pulling Nero to look the other way. "Don't look, it's going to be alright."

Nero only cries harder. He knows, because _he saw_. He saw the mangled up pieces of his arm down to the bones. He could feel his pulse everywhere in his body except there, feel his blood seep out of him like there's a hole in him. He's  _missing_ a part of himself. 

"Dante," the boy says, " _it's hurts_." 

His uncle lets out a sob, broken as he brushes a thumb across his nephew's check. He looks at Nero, eyes blue with the dark clouds of regret. His expression speaks as he is silent, saying so many things, but only one thing stands out loud and clear in Nero's agonizing haze. 

_I'm sorry._

 

 

 

The world is heavy on his back. 

 

 

 

The monitors sings quietly, a one-two song to his ears, and he wakes up, sluggish as the tried lids of his eyes try to pull him back to sleep. He resists, looking around to see the white walls and the white curtains of the hospital room, and the little amount of sunlight left coming in before the day is done.

At his bedside, to his left, is Dante, the man's feet up at on the bed as it was his desk, and he's slumped forward on a chair, arms crossed and asleep. He looks worn out, still well shaven but the creases on his brow tells of the disorder in his mind. 

In an instant, Nero remembers what happened, what he thought happened. His head shoots to his right, to his ar—  _Nothing._

Where his arm once was, there's a stump right where his shoulder ends, where emptiness began and faded into the world. He doesn't understand, where did it go? It no longer hurt there, but now it hurts everywhere else, his head, his remaining limbs, his stomach, his chest. 

Nero lets out a quiet cry, reaching out his left hand to grasp at his right arm, and all he holds is air, clawing at it with desperation that maybe, just maybe, it'll come back again, reform right before his eyes. 

He finds nothing, nothing until another hand finds him first. 

"Calm yourself, Nero," his father's calm voice says, gentle and commanding, and Nero remembers that he's not drowning. 

Vergil is sitting on the other side of the bed, leaning forward on one elbow on his knee. He keeps holding Nero's hand, looking much more put together than Dante, his hair still slicked back and his clothes with little ceases. He looks nothing like a man who'd been crying for his own son, not a hint of worry or concern on his face.

"Father," Nero breathes, trying to hold back his tears. 

"What is it?" Vergil asks patiently. "Is a nurse needed?" 

"I— What hap— I—"

"Take your time, Nero."

" _Why?_ ” 

Nero loses to his tears, clutching harshly at his father's hand, but the man doesn't falter. 

"Sometimes, there are no answers," Vergil answers, "and it'd be foolish to keep looking. What you should do now is rest, and look forward to the future." 

_The future, what future? It seems blea—_

"Your uncle and I are here for you, Nero. Dante's barely left your bedside since you got out of the operating room. I had to throw him, I told him to go home and get cleaned up. If I hadn't been bringing food, he'd be in a bed right next to you."

The man pulls his seat closer, not letting go. He places their hands together on top of Nero's middle. "Rest, Nero," he says, leaning on the bed just a bit. With his free hand, he brushed a lock of stray hair from his son's face. "We'll be here for you."

Nero wants to say something, but he doesn't, the comforting presence of his father's word pulling him too quickly, too easily. 

_So peacefully._

 

 

 

**And a half**

"I'm gonna follow in my daddy's footsteps," Nico says one day, as they sat on the swings of the schoolyard. Kyrie stands off to the side, waiting for her turn. "I'm gonna be an engineer, an inventor!"

It's thick, and moves funny. Nero's still taking physical therapy to get use to it. He hates it. It's heavy, and ugly. It's nothing like him, looking like a plain nude mannequin arm. The elbow movement is weird, it doesn't move like he used to. He's getting frustrated during therapy, he lost his temper. He cried. He wants his arm back. _He's weak._

"He's gonna teach me everythin' he knows, you trust me, Nero Sparda," his friend continues, smiling widely. She pushes her glasses up. 

"I thought you wanted to be a space fairy," Kyrie says, giggling. 

"An engineer sounds boring," Nero says, making sure his prosthetic is holding the chain properly. If he isn't careful, he'll drop things or himself. He's not sure if he can catch him with one arm, not daring to jump off the swings anymore. 

Nico laughs, puffing up her chest in pride. "My daddy always says that engineerin' is an art. My grandma was an artist, and I'm gonna be an artist too! I'm gonna make you the coolest arm, Nero."

Nero frowns, kicking himself a little. "You don't have to do that, I don't need your help or anything."

Nico growls angrily, smacking Nero on the back. "It's not for you, idiot! It's going to my masterpiece, just you wait. You're gonna to love it so much, I don't care if it takes me ten years or a hundred." 

That only set Nero off, kicking at his friend's leg. "I don't want it!"

"You little!" 

The girl jumps off the swing and tackles Nero to the ground. "Nico!" Kyrie shouts, pulling her friend off from Nero.

"You're so annoying!" Nero shouts from the ground. "I don't want your help!"

"I'm not helping you!" Nico screams back, Kyrie clutched tightly around her waist to hold her back. The bespectacled girl is crying, though her face is crossed. "I'm just being your friend!”

"Nero," Kyrie says, sounding teary, as she looks over at the boy, and she starts crying too, holding Nico in a hug. 

And Nero stares, all too aware of the other kids looking and whispering, "Nero made Nico and Kyrie cry."

From two feet away, the boy cries too, he doesn't understand why.

A teacher comes over to deal with the commotion and takes them back to their classroom after hearing what the other kids said, and she told them to sit at their desks until class resumes in ten minutes. 

Nero complies for a few minutes, until he blinks really hard and wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, heading over to other side of the room where the girls sitting right next to each other. 

"I want it to be blue," the boy says to Nico, sniffling loudly. "And I want the fingers to move like real ones. It has to move like my other arm, or I'll tell you do it again."

That gets the biggest smile from Nico, and she's already pulling paper out of her bag to start drawing plans. 

Kyrie asks Nero to sit with them. 

 

 

 

**Age 13**

"Hey, plastic!" the teen insults as he purposefully bump up against Nero's right shoulder.

Nero is so taken up by surprise that he ends up hitting against the lockers. He scowls at the other kid with some name like Bishop, who's a dumb looking eight grader who thought he could just pick on fresh meat. His posse of three other eight graders laugh as if it's actually funny. 

Who knew going to a new school was going to be so cliche? 

"Watch where you're going, asshole!" Nico shouts as Kyrie helps Nero stand back up. 

The brunette put on a displeased expression on her pretty face as she looks at the eighth grader. 

"Aw, look," Bishop (probably) mocks, his friends making kissy noises at the three. "Being as sad looking at you, you're bound to get some girls to feel bad for you, plastic."

"Back off," Nero warns, holding up a finger at the other boy, "before I make you."

Nico throws her chin up at Bishop, holding a fist in her hand.

"Don't," Kyrie tells her friends, "you're going to get in trouble."

"Only if  _he_ doesn't try to start anything," Nero spits out at Bishop. 

"You think you can take me, plastic?" Bishop eggs on, throwing his backpack to his friend roughly. "What's a skinny freak like you going do? Slap me with that dead arm of yours? I'm so fucking scared."

They're attracting a crowd, bystanders watching with interests. Several of them are jeering because really, nothing interesting ever happens at Empusa Middle School. 

Nero snaps into action when, and only when, one of Bishop's friends tries to grab at Kyrie. 

Trained since he could walk, and improving ever since, the thirteen year old pulls Kyrie back and smacks the predatory hand away. He tells Kyrie and Nico to stand back, throwing off his bag, before he heads off for a one-on-four fight before getting into a southpaw stance. 

Bishop and his posse pounce. 

Moving with only muscle memory, Nero fights efficiently, knocking out the first guy with a swift and hard uppercut. The next one to come up doesn't even stand a chance, probably less since he saw what Nero could do and hesitated as he charges at the young boy. 

Fluidly, Nero changes tactics. Grabbing the eight grader by the belt and sliding sideways, Nero uses the other's momentum to slide him over his hip, and the white haired boy boy throws the other boy onto the floor, ending this round with a straight punch to his solar plexus.

The crowd cheers, excited to actually see a good fight. 

The third of Bishop's friend doesn't even try, taking a step back before running away. No one would expect a skinny freshie is able to moves like that, not unless you had gone to elementary school with him. Nico and Kyrie have seen firsthand what Nero can do.

Bishop, as dumb as he is, Nero gives him points for being courageous. "Plastic freak!" he shouts in a war cry.

Nero doesn't even give him the opportunity to make three steps, slamming the older boy right up against the lockers. The sound of the strong impact echoes through the hallway, and the crowd is silent, eyes widened and mouth agape. 

The younger boy is holding Bishop up against the lockers a few inches in the air with only one hand, pulling back his right arm. 

"Next time," Nero says carefully, " _you_ watch yourself."

Nico gasps loudly. "Nero, wait!" she says. "That's just a prototype!" 

It's too late, Nero punches Bishop with one last punch and most definitely breaks Bishop's nose, the crunch of the bone almost sickening. 

But it is when he hears Kyrie suck in a breath that Nero knows he fucked up. He lets go, the bully falling to the floor crying and clutching at his face. 

"Let's go," Nero says as Nico goes to mourn over her latest project which is probably in wreck internally. Nero's strength is something she worries about a lot. 

The boy looks at the other girl, accepting the bag he dropped from her. "Sorry, Kyrie," Nero says, feeling guilty. He loses his temper sometimes, and he  _loathes_ when someone tries to touch his friends. But he also knows that Kyrie doesn't want him to get into fights. 

Kyrie gives him a small smile, accepting his apology. "Thanks, Nero," she says. 

Nero smiles back, feeling just a little less guilty. "Wanna get something to eat after school?" he dares to ask. They'd been friends since they were in kindergarten, but he's nervous for some reason. "There's a—"

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE!" 

The crowd runs in each and every direction, one of the math teachers already making his way into the middle of the fight. The teacher looks at Bishop who's still on the floor crying, and he immediately latches his sights on Nero, maybe because this particular teacher has had it out for the boy for the one time he corrected the teacher's equation in the middle of class. 

"Nero Sparda, report to the principal's office,” he orders, "now!" 

That afternoon, Nero is forced to wait outside the principal's office while his father is being called. When Vergil arrives, Dante is with him, trying not to look too smug. Nico probably texted him beforehand. 

The principal speaks to the two guardians as Nero sits outside, slumped back with his hands in his pockets. 

When his father and his uncle walk out, Vergil simply says, "Walk."

Great, he's being sent home early. "And you've been suspended for three days," Dante adds.  _Even better._

Nero rolls his eyes. "Are you mad?" he asks, biting the inside of his lip. 

"Disappointed," Vergil cuts. "I didn't train you so you can get into schoolyard fights."

"I did," Dante says, undermining his brother's authority. "They did deserve it, older brother."

"And they are middle schoolers. It's juvienile."

"They tried to touch Kyrie," Nero argues. 

Vergil hold Nero with a narrowed stare. "You are nowhere close to defeating me, you're not even be a challenge in your current state. If you aren't responsible with what you are given, then I will withhold them from you. Do you understand me?" 

The boy frowns, fidgeting on his feet, but he nods.

He wants to get stronger, he wants to make his father submit to him. 

"Now walk," Vergil repeats again, nodding to the door. Dante is smiling widely next to him, which makes him stop. "Are you done with your misplace pride?" 

"He got mad to protect his friend," the younger man says, patting Nero on the shoulder. 

They walk out of the administration office, and unfortunately, that's when the bell rings for class to let out for the next period. 

The boy huffs, pulling at his jacket because he knows people are staring, a parade of white hair people who look almost the same if not identical. 

"This is your fault, Dante," Vergil says, ignoring everyone else. "You could never hold your temper."

Dante lets out a snort. "Then he got your stubborn ass," he shoots back. "I definitely taught him that hip float though. Good kid."

"I taught him that uppercut."

"No, I did."

"Ridiculous.  _I_ did."

Nero continues walking, even when he knows that his father and his uncle had stopped to glare at each other. He's used to the bantering. 

"I'm driving," the thirteen year old says, holding up the car keys. 

"Hey, when did yo—  Nero!" Dante shouts. "Give those back!"

Nero looks over his shoulder with a laugh, flipping his uncle the finger, and he runs.

"Then come and get it!"

 

 

 

"Brat," Vergil says under his breath, smirking. 

 

 

 

**Age 16**

There's seven seconds on the clock, three opponents trying to get in his way. He's half the court away from the basket,  _five seconds_.

He has to shoot, he has to make the shot.

Dribbling, Nero steps back, giving himself enough space, and runs forward before his opponents could even come close. With the ball in his hands, he jumps, he jumps higher than anyone could reach him, their fingertips miles from the ball which he throws with a confident flick of his right wrist. 

Time freezes,  _three seconds_ , the ball arches in the air,  _two seconds_ , it bounces on the rim,  _one second_ , the hoop whishes, **_"Fortuna High wins!"_**

The stand bursts with cheers, and Nero throws his hands in the air, letting out a cry of victory as his teammates came over to hug him and pat him on the back. 

"My boy!" he hears before a fully grown man throws himself at the teen, the both of crashing onto the floor. 

"Dante!" Nero shouts, face flushed with sweat and embarrassment. "Get off, you're heavy!" 

"No way!" But Dante lets them up, putting his arm behind Nero's neck. He brings his nephew's face close and give Nero a big, _disgusting_ kiss on the cheek. 

To that, Nero just laughs, placing an arm around Dante's back. 

Nico and Kyrie come up next, Vergil right behind them. The bespectacled teen holds out a fist, to which Nero returns the gesture with a bump. Kyrie gives him a kiss on the lips, smiling beautifully. 

"I'm sweaty," Nero says, wiping his forehead. 

"It could be worse," Kyrie replies jokingly, taking Nero by the hand. The versatile fingers of his prosthetic curl around her, fitting her shape with his. 

"Best arm I've ever made," Nico compliments herself, crossing her arms. "I helped win this game."

Nero lets out a snort. "Sure, but it was pretty much all me." 

"Not a chance. Where in the world would you be without me?" 

Everyone laugh because they know it's true.

"Nero," Vergil says, wearing perhaps the softest smile. He combs a hand through his son's hair, not minding that it's wet with sweat, and he pulls their heads close, saying everything without the words. 

"Father," Nero replies, hearing them all loud and clear, and the glow of the night forever fills him with pride, with family, with love. 

 

 

 

The sky is light in his hands. 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I can't write Nero without Nico and Kyrie, I just realized. 
> 
> If you like my work(s), please check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/kappachyun?s=09).


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